The Russian - SETTING

by Patterson, James

  Now the crowd had thinned, but I don’t think Jeffrey Cedar had any idea I was behind him. He had definitely slowed down and was sitting comfortably on his bike seat instead of pumping the pedals from a standing position.

  We weren’t too far from Rockefeller Park. I couldn’t think of any place near there that would be of use to Cedar. If he really wanted to escape, he needed to be headed to the Staten Island Ferry or finding some other way off Manhattan. The Holland Tunnel was north of us, but he’d need a vehicle to get through that.

  My heart and legs were burning. I had no idea where this asshole was going, or if he even had a plan. Billy Van Fleet had run, even though he wasn’t guilty. I couldn’t let those circumstances repeat with Cedar.

  I was surprised how quickly I’d caught up to him, and I was beginning to contemplate a wild leap from my bike to his when he must’ve sensed me closing in. He dared a quick peek over his left shoulder, then he swerved right. Hard. Now we found ourselves in the grassy picnic area of Rockefeller Park.

  It wasn’t that busy on a weekday, though I still heard squeals and shouts as Cedar cut between people lounging on the lawn.

  He risked another look over his shoulder, but it was poor timing. He struck a giant man wearing a red Nebraska Cornhuskers shirt. They both went down onto the thick grass. The man in the red shirt snarled as he tried to rise to his feet. He was older than Cedar but looked like he could rip the attorney in half. Cedar popped up onto his feet, though, and abandoned the bike, setting off toward the water. But the Cornhusker reached out and somehow managed to grab Cedar’s foot as he was fleeing.

  I successfully turned my bike sideways and skidded to a halt just in front of them.

  Cedar kicked the man with his other foot and freed himself. He bolted toward the seawall.

  I started running after him. The sun was bright in the cloudless sky, and no breeze came off the water. I realized right then that the heat was going to get to me quickly. I still had my phone but hoped one of the patrol cars I’d asked for earlier would show up. There really isn’t a cop around when you need one.

  Cedar was running along the low seawall and had a good stride. I saw one of the smaller tour boats, about forty feet, cruising parallel with the wall. I couldn’t imagine what they were looking at around here, but I could hear the guide’s voice over a tinny loudspeaker.

  Cedar took one more look at me over his shoulder. He must’ve realized at that point that I wasn’t going to give up. I sure hoped he would. But, of course, he didn’t.

  Instead, he sprinted hard and leapt off the seawall. I slowed my run and watched as he timed his jump perfectly. He landed on the rear section of the tour boat. He was on the deck behind a gaggle of elderly women, who all shrieked when he landed.

  I watched as Cedar wobbled for a moment with his arms outstretched. He scrambled for a handhold at the stern of the boat but, when he didn’t find one, started to lose his balance.

  I stood at the seawall along with a couple of other pedestrians who had stopped to watch the show, feeling helpless as we watched in horror as Cedar bobbed and slid on the rear deck…then tumbled over the stern.

  I already had my phone out, ready to call a rescue boat, when I saw the position of his landing—almost directly behind the stern. The anguished sound of his screams will be etched in my memory forever as I, and everyone nearby, witnessed Jeffrey Cedar get dragged underwater and chopped to bits by the boat’s propellers.

  Ten seconds later, it was all over. The captain of the boat had raced to cut the engines when he realized what was happening, but it was already too late. A red film spread across the surface of the water like something out of a horror movie.

  I was frozen, staring at the gruesome scene. So was everyone else. Aside from a couple of people crying on the boat, no one nearby made a sound.

  I had to sit on the low seawall for a moment. Everything caught up to me at once. The stress of the last weeks. The exhaustion of chasing a murder suspect. The grisly murders of at least six young women here in New York. The concern over whether Hollis would improve. And now the macabre scene in front of me.

  There was nothing more anyone could do except wait for the cavalry, the first responders activated by dozens of eyewitness calls to 911. And try to keep from vomiting, and embarrassing myself and the NYPD.

  Chapter 73

  While I had been chasing down Jeffrey Cedar, his receptionist had been brought by patrol car to Manhattan North Homicide. Her name was Olivia Green, and I paid her a visit in the interview room where she’d been waiting with her attorney—conveniently, one of Cedar’s former colleagues.

  Judging by the look of shock on her face, she was struggling to absorb the disturbing events of the day. Not only had her former boss struck and then fled from a detective, but she herself was being held in custody.

  “Ms. Green,” I said, “do you know why you’re here?”

  She shook her head.

  I remembered the emotional look on her face when Cedar jumped out his office window. I needed to determine the nature of their relationship.

  “Ms. Green, you worked for Mr. Cedar. Did you date him too?”

  She looked genuinely stunned by the accusation, and so did her attorney.

  “Never,” she said. “I’m an old friend of Lauren’s. I babysit Tyler all the time.”

  “Did you know that earlier today Lauren called the police?”

  “No,” she said. “Is she all right? Is Tyler hurt?”

  “Tyler is fine,” I said. “But Lauren showed me a bruise on her arm in the shape of her husband’s hand. She said he hurt her when she confronted him with evidence he’d been cheating on her. Both of the women he’d been seeing are dead. And he may have had other victims.”

  “Jeffrey may have a temper, and I believe he may have cheated, but he’s not a killer,” the receptionist protested.

  Olivia Green was quite insistent. She was also wrong.

  “A killer is exactly what he was,” I said. “And note my use of the past tense. I’m sorry to inform you that Jeffrey Cedar is dead. He died trying to escape arrest for the crimes he committed. And in order to avoid your own arrest, I need you to corroborate Mr. Cedar’s whereabouts on the dates of multiple homicides currently under investigation by the NYPD.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, until her lawyer cut in.

  “My client has nothing to say at this time.”

  A uniformed officer brought in boxes containing the contents of the receptionist’s desk and placed them on the table.

  “You’re a meticulous record keeper, Ms. Green,” I said. “We’ve collected paper calendars going back years. Show us the current one. And the mileage logs on the car Mr. Cedar claimed as a business expense.”

  With a trembling hand, she opened the boxes, looking through the contents until she found the requested documents and set them on the table.

  “Did Mr. Cedar travel much?” I asked.

  “Before Tyler was born, yes,” she said. “Not so much recently. But he did drive his car all over the city.”

  And there, in Olivia Green’s perfect handwriting, was all the proof I needed. Cedar had almost certainly murdered Marilyn Shaw and Lila Stein—but on the evening Chloe Tumber was killed, he’d been in court, awaiting the decision of a deliberating jury. And the records showed equally airtight alibis for the murders of Elaine Anastas and the other two victims in Brooklyn and the Bronx.

  Now I was positive. Jeffrey Cedar was a copycat. We still had the real killer to catch.

  Chapter 74

  As I came out of the interview room, I ran into Harry Grissom. He had been observing my questioning of Olivia Green.

  “Great work, Mike,” my lieutenant said. “Now I need you to go home and get some rest. You’re no good to me or the investigation if you’re exhausted and distracted.”

  “I’ve been exhausted and distracted for over a month.”

  “Well, I don’t want it to go any further. Take tomorrow off if you ne
ed it. Spend some time with that beautiful family of yours.”

  I took his word as command.

  I came in the front door just before dinnertime, about the same time as Brian. He was carrying his small duffel bag and nodded hello. He shrugged when I asked how it was going. Was this the new normal in communication with my oldest boy?

  Before I could get into any further questions with him, we both heard crying. When you have ten kids, the sound of crying isn’t immediately concerning, since it’s not all that uncommon—it’s likely that someone’s just annoyed with someone else.

  Brian followed me into the dining room, where we located the source of the crying: Jane, at the end of the table, sobbing hysterically into a very wet paper towel. Mary Catherine sat on one side of Jane, stroking her hair. Juliana sat on the other, holding a roll of paper towels. There was a pile of crumpled towels in the middle of the table.

  In between sobs, Jane said, “I-I-I just can’t believe he would do this!”

  I’d been around long enough to guess almost exactly what had happened.

  Brian was still new to this game. He said, “What who did?”

  Juliana looked up at her brother and explained, “Allan broke up with Jane. No notice, nothing. When she tried to talk to him, he just told her it was over.”

  That set off a new round of wailing from Jane. “And-and we were supposed to go to the school dance this weekend!”

  Brian muttered, “That asshole.”

  Instinctively, I placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

  Brian jerked away from my touch and stormed out of the room.

  I stepped to the dining room table and gave Jane a kiss on the top of her head. I wished I were better at this kind of thing. I knew I’d have to deal with it a lot more as the girls got older. But I was at a loss. I did my best to teach the boys to always respect women, and at least, from the little bit I heard through gasps and crying, I didn’t get the impression Allan had been disrespectful. Just thoughtless. But I still wanted Jane to feel better.

  The front door slammed. Hard. I looked at Mary Catherine. She said, “Has to be Brian.”

  I rushed out the front door, but he had already caught the elevator down to the lobby. An angry Brian roaming the streets and hunting a clueless Allan Martin III made me very nervous.

  Chapter 75

  I told the girls I was going out to catch Brian. I grabbed my keys and raced downstairs. The doorman said Brian had turned left after he’d burst through the doors onto the street.

  Sure, Jane was upset, but that was part of life. She’d get over her first breakup. I hoped Brian realized the same thing.

  I couldn’t see him in either direction. I jogged toward the left. Now my imagination started to kick in. I felt my stomach begin to burn as I considered all the terrible things Brian could do to an unsuspecting high schooler.

  Before I knew it, I was three blocks away from the apartment. I thought of the basketball courts a few blocks from here where Brian liked to hang out. I broke into an all-out run. This was not the family time I had envisioned.

  A quick overview of the courts did not produce Brian. I was at a loss. Then I spotted one of the young men who coordinated the leagues.

  “Have you seen Brian?” I asked.

  “Not in a couple of days.”

  I groaned in frustration.

  “Have you checked Holy Name? I know he likes their courts. Don’t you guys have some relative who works there?”

  I thanked him and burst into a sprint I didn’t realize I was capable of after my draining chase of Cedar. Clearly the bike riding with Mary Catherine had had more effect on me than I’d thought.

  I slowed as I approached the church and called my grandfather. He didn’t answer. Seamus wasn’t big on cell phones. He thought they caused cancer. On several occasions he had claimed he would start using his cell phone around his ninetieth birthday. He figured by then it wouldn’t matter.

  When I got to campus, I threaded my way through the courtyards that led to the basketball gym. A couple of the nuns tried to engage me in conversation. They were still full of questions about the wedding. I was as polite as possible without ever stopping, not even for a moment.

  Brian was taking anger management classes, but he also had strong protective instincts. And right now, the two might be about to combust. If someone had wronged his sister, no training could keep that primal rage in check.

  The image of a bloody Allan Martin III, beaten, or with a shiv stuck in his stomach, popped into my head. I could also imagine Allan’s father in court, disparaging my son as a bad influence and a danger to the Martin family. The final part of that equation was Brian being locked away like a rabid dog. I was panicked. It made me run faster. Much faster.

  I burst through the doors on the upper deck of the gymnasium and heard the sounds of a pickup basketball game in progress. There were voices and a few hoots and hollers.

  I froze at the sight of Brian playing one-on-one with Allan Martin. My other boys, Trent, Eddie, and Ricky, sat in the front row, cheering their brother on.

  No one was dead. There wasn’t even any blood. I eased onto the very top bleacher. I realized my legs were shaky. I wasn’t sure if it was from the sprint or the fear I’d had about what Brian could’ve done.

  I watched silently. Both of the boys were better than I’d thought. Allan sunk a three pointer. Brian hit three fifteen-foot jumpers. On the last one, after the ball had slipped through the hoop and bounced on the hardwood floor, the boys stood face-to-face.

  Brian called out, “Game.” He stared down the younger boy and said, “Do it. Do it right now.”

  I was intrigued, but also ready to intervene if Brian was ordering Allan to do something out of line. I watched as they both stepped over to the bleachers. Allan retrieved his phone, and the other boys gathered around him.

  I made my way down the bleachers until I was in the lower level, not too far from the boys. None of them noticed—they were all too focused on Allan’s phone.

  Ricky said, “Put it on speaker.”

  Allan said, “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Not even a little. Now put your phone on speaker so we can all hear it.”

  Allan pushed a few buttons.

  “Hello?” said a voice I immediately recognized as Jane’s.

  Allan didn’t waste any time. “I’m sorry for breaking up with you, Jane. It was a mistake. Is there any chance you would still go to the dance with me?”

  There was almost no hesitation on the line as Jane answered. “No.” Then she hung up.

  I couldn’t keep a wide smile from spreading across my face.

  My three younger boys all started to hoot and chide Allan.

  Trent said, “She’s already over you, loser.”

  Eddie said, “Can’t play basketball, don’t know women. Good luck in the future.”

  All four of my boys walked out and left the entitled little shit standing in the gym by himself.

  Chapter 76

  The next morning, I lingered long enough to eat breakfast with the family. Jane looked much better. Being able to turn Allan down had meant a lot to her.

  Mary Catherine lingered over our kiss good-bye at the front door. It’d been so long that I’d forgotten what a good mood felt like. She made me promise to call her soon with an update on Brett Hollis. I hopped into my city-issued Chevy Impala and made the short drive to the Columbia University Medical Center.

  Outside Hollis’s room, I took a moment to compose myself. As I opened the door, I heard a voice behind me. I turned to find a tall nurse with reddish hair.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  I closed the door. “I was going to visit my partner, Brett Hollis. Isn’t this his room?”

  “He’s resting right now. They set his pelvis last night. Come back sometime after lunch and he’ll be ready for visitors.”

  I knew not to argue with the nurse. Nurses are right up there with nuns, judges, and teach
ers.

  It took almost no time for me to make it back to my car. I had a number of assignments I wanted to cover today.

  Mainly, I was checking with employers of the victims from our homicides, my own follow-up to the initial Task Force Halo outreach.

  It took me less than an hour to visit the workplaces of the victims in Brooklyn and the Bronx, as well as Columbia Law School, where Chloe Tumber had been enrolled. No one had any new information. I would hit the rest after I saw Brett Hollis this afternoon. I might even get home before dark again.

  Almost as soon as I settled at my desk, I saw John Macy trudging through the office, straight toward me. “I heard Hollis is out of action,” he said. “I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

  I thought about that for a moment. I looked up at the well-dressed mayor’s aide and said, “Let me just wash up. Have a seat and make yourself comfortable.”

  Macy seemed to appreciate my new attitude. He smiled and pulled a notebook out of the leather satchel he always carried. He settled in at Hollis’s desk, not thinking twice about reorganizing Hollis’s papers.

  I went to the bathroom and washed my hands. I didn’t want to lie.

  Then I left the office. I decided it would probably be a good idea to finish my visits with the other businesses before I went back to the hospital.

  I smiled as I drove away, wondering how long Macy would sit quietly at the desk before he started asking about me.

  Chapter 77

  The people at Manhattan Family Insurance, where victim Elaine Anastas had interned, were pleasant and tried to be helpful. They all spoke highly of her.

  Not that I’d expected anything else—most people only seem to recall a homicide victim’s positive qualities, although someone’s bad traits are more likely to have led to their death. Not that that necessarily applied when we were talking about a serial killer. Still, I tried to hide my impatience when I heard on endless loop: “Elaine was so bright.” “Elaine was so driven.” “Elaine came from someplace upstate but managed to make it in the city.” High praise from fellow New Yorkers.